The Most Helpful Thing We Can Do for a Grieving Friend

I like to think of myself as a problem-solver. Come to me with your job confusion, relationship issues, and everyday overwhelm, and I’ll help you come up with a strategy to fix things.

I suppose it’s somewhat selfish. Finding solutions comes naturally to me, and there’s a gratification that comes with helping someone tangibly.

When my sister was diagnosed with stage-four lung cancer, I set about trying to fix it. I assured her we’d find a clinical trial or an exotic herb that could cure her. If we needed to, we’d traverse the Brazilian rainforests ourselves and discover a medicinal miracle.

When she came to me in her fear and despair, I tried to fix that, too. I cheer-led. I found people who had beat the dire odds. I made promises I had no right to make, assuring her we’d grow old together.

Then one day, ever the wise older sister, said something I’ll never forget. “Jess, please don’t try to solve this. I just need you to be with me in the sadness.”

And there it was. So simple and yet so difficult.

Don’t just do something, sit there.

When someone we care about is grieving, the most meaningful thing we can do is to simply be present. For many of us, that can feel wildly uncomfortable, and that’s okay. Grief is uncomfortable.

Whether the grief is conventional “hallmark-card” grief we experience when a person dies, ambiguous grief, anticipatory grief, or any other flavour of grief, being with our person without expectations or judgment is a profound way to show that we care.

Sure, there are tactical ways we can help. Buy our friend groceries. Mow their lawn. Take their toddler out for ice cream. But showing up over time and sitting with them in the sadness has a far different impact.

Why?

Chances are our friend feels isolated.

Our presence reminds them they’re not alone. Don’t worry if you don’t know the perfect thing to say. Most of the time, there is no perfect thing to say. Instead, be there to listen, and take cues from the griever.

If they want to talk about their person, let them. If they want to laugh and talk about anything other than their loss, be there for that, too. Our job isn’t to cheer them up, it’s to bear witness to their experience.

Remember, sometimes there really are no words.

We might want to fill the silence with well-meaning sentiments, but chances are they’ll come across as pablum. When nothing we can say will make it better, saying nothing at all may help. In traditional Judaism, for example, the custom is to sit silently in the presence of the mourner until they initiate conversation. If this feels too strange. A simple “I’m so sorry” may help.

Silence is a virtue. Being quiet validates how our friend may be feeling, which is “yes, it actually is that bad.”

The “over time” part in “showing up over time and sitting in the sadness” is a critical part of the equation.
After the crowds have dissipated and the lasagnas have freezer burn, our friend still needs us, maybe even more than they did at the outset.

Grief is a sneaky shape-shifter. It changes form, but it doesn’t go away. Being there for our friend in week two, month two, and even year two is the best way to offer comfort. Showing up doesn’t come with an expiration date.

On an episode of the “Smartless” podcast, the author Michael Lewis shared that when his daughter was killed in a car crash, his friend Dave Eggers came to Michael’s house and told him he’d remain on his front porch with food all day.

He didn’t drop a fruit basket and take off. He didn’t say, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” which puts the onus on the griever. He showed up, and he stayed. Michaels reaction? He says it was a “heroic act.”

The easy thing is to tell ourselves that our friend wants space, that we shouldn’t impose in their darkest hour. We might be worried we’ll say the wrong thing, remind them of their loss, or even think their sadness will rub off on us. All those concerns are about us, not about our friend. Truly being present is selfless, and yes, it’s heroic.